


Nothing But the Future

by maybesheglows



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: 10x12, 69 (Sex Position), Canon Compliant, Domestic Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Married Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Mickey Milkovich Loves Ian Gallagher's Hair, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, Wedding Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:41:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24226759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maybesheglows/pseuds/maybesheglows
Summary: On their wedding night, Mickey reflects on his and Ian's shared history.(Or, Mickey's sexy wedding night with his husband.)__“I love you so much, Mickey. Can’t believe you’re mine.” Ian kissed him, pressed his soft lips firmly against Mickey’s before pulling back to add, “I’m so fucking lucky that you’re my husband.”That word again, setting a fire along Mickey’s skin as it coursed over his entire body, leaving him ablaze with want and desire. Ian saw it pass over his eyes, and he was on him again in an instant.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 20
Kudos: 198





	Nothing But the Future

“You…” Ian said, pulling his mouth away from the fresh hickey he’d been sucking into Mickey’s neck to trail his lips upward toward Mickey’s ear, “…are mine now. Forever.”

His voice was deep and commanding yet innately comforting in that way that he’d always made sound so effortless. As the words washed over Mickey, Ian’s breath tickling his ear, a pleasant round of goosebumps broke out over his skin despite his layers of clothing. Ian always had that effect on him, even from the very beginning when Mickey had wished he hadn’t. Almost ten years on and Ian still made Mickey weak; at this point the older man figured it would always be this way. And, as Ian laved his tongue over Mickey’s throat and the brunette all but shivered in response, he was perfectly fine with that.

With his mouth continuing its worship of Mickey’s neck, Ian’s hands roamed over Mickey’s chest, groping his pecs firmly before moving down and popping open the buttons on Mickey’s jacket. 

Mickey stood in front of Ian – who was sitting on the edge of the hotel bed – his body resting nicely between the younger man’s splayed legs. They’d been in their suite for all of five minutes before Mickey had pushed Ian down onto the bed – it wasn’t difficult what with Ian’s bum leg - and kissed him feverishly, hours’ worth of pent up emotion and sexual frustration working its way out of them in a frenzied rush. They’d made out furiously for fifteen minutes, groping and grinding like teenagers. But they hadn’t gone any further, at Ian’s insistence.

Ian had made him promise they’d take it slow since they’d already fucked before the wedding, once in the shower and then mutual blowjobs before they’d gotten dressed in their tuxes. Mickey didn’t have it in him to object. If ever there was a time to let Ian have his way with him, Mickey figured it was their wedding night.

Besides, he enjoyed it when Ian was in one of these moods because it always led to his body being exquisitely tortured with Ian’s mouth, Ian’s hands, Ian’s cock. His own flaccid cock twitched simply at the thought of Ian taking his time with him. Who was he to deny Ian what he so badly craved? Especially when Mickey was feeling this pleasantly drunk on affection and sentimentality.

He smiled into Ian’s hair. They’d gotten married today. He and Ian. Married.

After the ordeal with the venue had been settled, it was easy to fall into that floaty headspace of relaxation and enjoyment where he could just let the day play out as it may. He’d begun the day so fired up and full of rage that by the time things started slotting easily into place for once in their lives, he’d deflated like a leaking balloon, all the anger and resentment toward his piece of shit father that had risen to the surface over the last weeks petering out and taking all his murderous intent with it, until the only thing left was his desire to leave that part of his life firmly in the past.

He didn’t want to start the first day of the rest of his and Ian’s life together so filled up with hostility and hate. He wouldn’t. He’d come too far for that; they’d come too far for that.

He’d looked at Ian in his tux, so beautiful and perfect and hopeful as he perfected Mickey’s tie for him and told him he wanted a family with Mickey, and he’d known. Known right in that moment that it didn’t matter if all the details of the wedding weren’t executed as he’d planned. It didn’t matter if every single thing about the wedding was different from his vision. It didn’t matter one iota because at the end of the day he was going to be married to Ian, was going to call Ian his husband, was going to walk down the aisle hand in hand as Mr. and Mr. Ian Gallagher. And nothing was going to take that away from him.

Ian’s family – his family – had proven that.

He was able to sit back then and breathe, to enjoy the day for what it was. And he got to enjoy the aspects of his planning that stuck even with the venue change. The Chiavari chairs with the gold trim had looked fucking magnificent after all.

But most of all he was able to enjoy having this day with Ian. For Ian. For himself.

It wasn’t lost on him that this wedding - this marriage – shared no similarities with his first, and the thought had him feeling sentimental as fuck. Thinking of everything he and Ian had been through, everything that they could still go through, and knowing with certainty that they’d always have each other, they’d always choose each other, no matter what was thrown at them, was so far beyond anything good he ever thought he’d have in this life that it could buckle his knees if he let it.

He’d told Ian once that he was fucked for life, and he’d meant it. That was just how it was. He didn’t see any other way. But somewhere between then and now, both because of Ian and because of hard fucking work on his own part to overcome shitty mentalities that were beaten into him as a way of life, his perspective had started to change. He’d started to see more for himself, to want more for himself, things he couldn’t put a name to at first, but eventually dawned on him that they were dreams. Wants. Aspirations.

Things he’d never had before.

His life suddenly had options. He didn’t have to just accept the shitty circumstances that were handed to him. He could actively choose to strive for something better for himself. To strive for something better for Ian. After that point, his choice was always as clear as day.

He’d chosen Ian, time and time again, and he always would.

Now, finally, Ian had chosen him in return.

Ian’s mouth still worked languidly at his neck, and Mickey let the heat from the redhead’s lips and tongue wash over him as the events of the day flooded his mind once again.

He’d been surprised to find that standing in front of their family and having a wedding he actively wanted, promising himself to the man with whom he’d been madly, staggeringly in love since he was a teenager, it did something to him. Made him soft and pliant when he was normally hard and abrasive. He wasn’t used to it and he couldn’t hide the emotion from showing on his face, evidenced by the nearly permanent smile that had adorned his face since that afternoon. As uncommon as it was, it just felt right. He couldn’t help it, and he was perhaps even more surprised to find that he didn’t want to.

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes at himself, he inwardly thanked god, sheba, whoever the fuck was in charge for his prison-mandated therapy. He’d learned over the course of those sessions that he and Ian deserved a chance at happiness, and he wasn’t going to miss this one. They were allowed to be happy. He was allowed to be happy.

Mickey was something close to giddy, if he’d used words like that, which he most certainly fucking did not. He’d probably allow Ian anything he wanted right now if he was being honest with himself.

His hands slid unconsciously through Ian’s hair as the redhead’s mouth continued its lazy assault on Mickey’s neck and throat. Mickey loved holding onto Ian as he worked him over, keeping the connection with his hands on Ian in some way. In Ian’s hair, on his biceps, cupping his face. Whatever part of Ian he could hold onto to fill every one of his senses up fully with his boyfriend. With his _husband_.

Ian was his husband now. He felt the electric current that had been coursing through his veins all day surge suddenly at the thought. Ian was his husband. He was Ian’s husband.

After everything they’d been through, together and apart, they’d finally made it back to each other and come out on the other side better for it. Something headier than even arousal washed over him, and he felt the goofy smile he’d been wearing all day grow bigger.

Ian detached his lips from Mickey’s throat and pulled back to look at him fully as their eyes met. They’d done that a lot today. Just looked their fill at each other, making up for lost time. Making up for lost time, when they’d had to sneak around and steal glances at each other when no one else was looking for fear that they’d be found out. For Mickey’s fear that they’d be found out. Weeks apart, years apart. Separated by unwanted marriages, mental illness, prison sentences, their own doubts and stupidity.

Making up for lost time when he wasn’t able to look upon the one face in the entire world that he so badly wanted to see every day for the rest of his life.

But that was a lifetime ago in Mickey’s estimation, and now Ian was right in front of him, his hands cupping Mickey’s face and his eyes trained solely on him in that way that made Mickey feel safe and wanted and loved. His whole future right in front of him. And Ian was perfectly still around him, a steadying force grounding Mickey and bathing him in his love and light.

For years Ian had been this bright fucking sunlight in the darkness, careening into Mickey’s life out of nowhere and refusing to dull, the effects of which Mickey had hidden from and chased in equal measure. But he was done hiding, and he was done chasing. There was no longer a need. Not when he was wearing Ian Gallagher’s ring on his finger. Not when he, himself, would be a Gallagher soon.

This time Ian wasn’t running. After they’d worked through all the shit that led to the end of the first engagement, they were on stable ground. As much as Mickey fucking hated talking about feelings and all that shit, Mickey wouldn’t have entered into a marriage with Ian if they hadn’t been on even footing, if they both hadn’t been upfront and honest about their worries, insecurities, and doubts. He had no intention of repeating the past.

It’d been a tense few weeks, with both of them certain they wanted to get married but uncertain that they knew how to deal with each other’s respective brand of traumas and bullshit. But they’d talked, and talked, and talked, and eventually they reached a middle. A place where they could come together and sort their shit out in a way they’d never been able to before. Guess that prison therapy fucking worked.

He knew they would have their ups and downs, but he had every confidence that with this man by his side, the one who looked at Mickey as if all the secrets of the universe were written in his eyes, he could weather any storm. They could weather any storm, together. 

Christ, he sounded like a teenage girl. Probably looked the part too, with the dumb goofy smile he’d been sporting all day making him look like a lovesick fool.

But Mickey knew if he looked closely enough at Ian he could still see the lovesick teenager he used to be, his face so open and trusting despite coming from where they come from. The memory caused a pleasant little flip of affection in Mickey’s stomach for that gawky teenager who used to look at him with moon eyes. Sometimes Ian still looked at him that way.

He’d always loved that about Ian, how he wore his emotions on his sleeve and how he wasn’t jaded by all the shit that rained down on them from this town, from this life. Ian’s diagnosis had slowly faded his light all those years ago. Mickey had watched helplessly as Ian’s expressive green eyes drained away to nothing, the numbest of blank stares. He’d been completely unreadable back then, and it scared Mickey to lose that from Ian, to not be able to know exactly what he was thinking and feeling just from the quirk of his eyebrows or the crease of his forehead.

In the years since the diagnosis, since the first break up and Mickey’s first prison stint, time had changed Ian slightly, hardened his soft edges just enough that he wasn’t so naïve. But he was still the Ian that Mickey remembered, the fiercely determined, cocky motherfucker he fell in love with.

He had that fire back in his eyes now, that same determination he’d had as a kid. Mickey saw it every time Ian looked at him, every time Ian talked about keeping their heads down and getting off parole and starting their future. He’d had it since Mickey showed up in Ian’s prison cell over two years after crossing the border alone, and he’d promised himself then that he’d do anything to make sure that lightness never left Ian’s eyes again. Call it _Brokeback Mountain_ bullshit, but he couldn’t quit the motherfucker. He was all in. Good times, bad, sickness, health, all that shit. Family. Ian had always been his family, and now it was legal, permanent. His husband.

It still felt surreal.

Ian sighed contentedly, and it brought Mickey out of his reverie, back into the present. His fingers stilled in the younger man’s hair, and he surveyed the damage. Perfectly slicked back all day at the wedding, the red locks were now a mess from Mickey’s fingers having worked their way through them over and over again as they’d made out and rutted against each other. The slightly shorter hair at the back stuck up in different directions, and the longer hair on top fell away from the others in pieces, some over his forehead, some off to the sides framing his face.

The sappy smile on Mickey’s face grew bigger. He loved seeing Ian’s red hair come undone from a roll in the sack. Or on the sofa. Or up against the dryer in the kitchen when everyone else was gone. Mickey just loved Ian’s hair, period. He loved Ian’s hair when it was long and shaggy like back when they’d first fucked and again when he’d come out. He loved the way it looked when Ian was fresh out of the shower, dark from the wetness and curling up slightly at the ends. He especially loved Ian’s naturally curly hair and wished like hell that he would go back to that look someday. But truthfully any look that Ian wanted to wear, Mickey was here for it. He just wanted Ian.

He was glad he’d finally nailed the fucker down because he knew he’d never find another man with hair such a perfect shade of red…not to mention one with such a perfect cock. He’d never known he had a thing for redheads until Ian.

He supposed there were plenty of things he hadn’t known about himself until Ian.

Ian’s face was flushed, his expression soft with affection and relaxed even through the arousal. He was so fucking beautiful, and Mickey was lucky. He’d get to look at this beautiful face for the rest of his life.

Ian smiled up at him fully then, a mind reader apparently, that familiar cocky thing which the brunette had long ago stopped thinking didn’t make his toes curl. Ian’s fingers undid the final button on Mickey’s jacket, and he moved his hands up to push the garment from Mickey’s arms and onto the floor.

Mickey reached up to undo his bowtie, but Ian grabbed his hands gently and placed them back around Ian’s shoulders, his own hands resting lightly atop Mickey’s.

“Uh-uh,” he said, his hands moving from Mickey’s arms to the back of Mickey’s head, bringing it to his own for a kiss with just a hint of tongue before pulling back again.

“I want to undress you tonight.” Ian leaned in for another kiss, quick and firm, all lips, before pulling back with that same smirk while his hands came around the front to undo Mickey’s tie, his long fingers making quick work of the fabric knot.

“You gonna let me strip you, Mick?”

He dropped the accessory to the floor and stroked his fingers tenderly over Mickey’s throat and neck, the skin slightly reddened after Ian’s earlier assault with his mouth.

Mickey swallowed roughly, sudden heat rushing to his groin at just the thought of Ian undressing him. It’d been a while since they’d done that. Although he was sure Ian could tell from his reaction that that was exactly what he wanted, Mickey didn’t answer right away. He wanted to make Ian work for it a little.

Ian loved convincing Mickey to give in to his whims, so he kissed him fully then, opened Mickey’s mouth with his tongue and bathed it with his own, giving Mickey just enough to make him moan in that high pitched way that the older man used to find embarrassing when he was a kid falling apart at this dopey redhead’s unexpected finesse. Now, as an adult and a card carrying member of the I-get-fucked-in-the-ass-on-a-regular-basis-and-I-fucking-love-it club, Mickey couldn’t care less.

The moans Ian pulled from him were Ian’s; they belonged to him and were for him only. Mickey belonged to Ian, every part of him. He always had, since that fated moment nearly ten years ago when he’d thrown caution to the wind and taken a giant gay leap right into ginger Prince Charming’s arms. Now it was official. He was Ian’s, wholly and completely. And finally, Ian was his. Ian had chosen him, promised himself to Mickey forever.

The thought made heat curl fiercely in his belly again, warming him from his toes to the very tips of his ears. Ian was his. He had chosen Mickey. Finally, purposefully, publicly. Mickey could get lost in the thought if he let himself.

If he could tell his brash eighteen year old self that this ballsy redheaded idiot was going to choose him, Mickey, out of all the other men on this planet, to have and to hold as his husband…he’d certainly punch himself in the face, if not Ian himself for even suggesting it. But here and now, Ian was kissing the hell out of him, his tongue working Mickey’s expertly the way he knew Mickey loved, and soon he’d be a puddle in Ian’s arms like clockwork.

Just when Mickey started to moan desperately again, Ian pulled back, an expectant look on his face. Mickey hadn’t answered his question.

He smirked in reply, eyes never leaving Ian’s. As if he would say no to a request like that. His hands found their way to Ian’s hair again, stroking up and down, back and forth. He nodded his answer and couldn’t stop the fond, dopey smile from pulling at his lips again when Ian blinded him with a full-on stunner of a smile. It was heart-melting. Mickey loved him so fucking much. He no longer needed to hide from it or chase it.

Ian loved him freely and openly, constantly, and Mickey grounded himself in it. He lived there now, in Ian’s love.

“Ask me again,” he requested, eyes still trained on Ian’s.

Ian’s smile didn’t falter, but Mickey swore he saw his eyes grow darker with lust as he brought his hands down to Mickey’s shoulder blades and pushed at them slightly, pressing Mickey closer against him. Always closer.

“You gonna let me strip you tonight, Mick? Let me do whatever I want with you now that you’re my husband?”

Fuck, hearing Ian say it out loud, combined with that heated gaze pinned so directly on him…it made Mickey full-body shiver with pure desire and adoration. He hadn’t realized how badly he’d wanted Ian to call him his husband again, but now that he’d said it, here, like this, he didn’t know if he’d ever want Ian to refer to him as anything else.

Years ago they’d been boyfriends, the sporadic times they’d been in position to describe their situation. In prison, they’d been partners. A few times since the engagement, he’d called Mickey his fiancé. But Ian calling him his husband, it was heady and permanent, life-altering, and Mickey didn’t even care that he’d turned into the softest motherfucker he knew. He wanted to hear it again.

It was his goddamn wedding day, and he was allowed to be happy.

“Yes.”

He was allowed to be happy _._

“Say it again.” Heat burned his cheeks and ears as he stared directly into Ian’s eyes. He still couldn’t help how vulnerable it made him feel to ask so openly for what he wanted, especially when it went beyond something sexual. But Ian had always been able to read Mickey’s body like second nature. He’d always known exactly what Mickey craved without Mickey having to say a word.

Ian nodded knowingly, his lecherous smile never faltering as he asked again, “You gonna let me do whatever I want with you?”

As good as that part sounded, that wasn’t what Mickey wanted repeated. He knew Ian knew that. It was a two-way street. Mickey needed this small moment of validation, and Ian needed to hear Mickey asking him so acutely to give him what he wanted. He loved it when Mickey told him what he wanted Ian to do to him. Mickey smiled through the wild flush still present on his cheeks. They knew each other so well.

“Say the other part again. The last thing.” His face was red hot under Ian’s intense stare. Christ, he hadn’t been embarrassed about sex in a decade or more. This day was really something.

Fondness and amusement flooded Ian’s face as he moved his hands over Mickey’s shoulders and down his back, stopping at his ass and squeezing Mickey’s cheeks firmly through the dress pants. Mickey held back a groan, not wanting to give in to the feeling until Ian said it again.

“You gonna let me do whatever I want to you tonight, Mick…now that you’re my husband?”

The words were accompanied by an even firmer squeeze to Mickey’s ass, and the brunette couldn’t control the desperate moan that left his throat at the sound of the words from Ian’s mouth, so assured and hopeful, so confident.

He nodded immediately, his fingers tugging slightly in Ian’s hair.

“Fuck, Ian. You can do whatever you want tonight. You know you can always do whatever you want.”

Mickey had been putty in Ian’s hands for going on a decade, and the younger man knew it, loved it. The fucker got off on control, and Mickey loved giving it to him. The safety he felt in Ian’s arms as he gave himself to Ian was unparalleled. Ian held Mickey’s pleasure in his hands and in his heart, and Mickey knew it was safe with him. Mickey was safe with him.

Ian’s hands stayed firm on his ass, groping and squeezing as his mouth found Mickey’s again. They opened to each other lazily, feeling every trade of breath and pass of tongues. Mickey’s hands made their way back to Ian’s hair, gently stroking and scratching at Ian’s skull, Ian humming at the familiar comfort. They kissed slowly but fiercely, letting the charge between them burn steady and hot as they panted and moaned into each other’s mouths.

Mickey’s cock was straining painfully against his pants as Ian pulled away eventually to work the buttons on Mickey’s dress shirt open. He stared heatedly up at the brunette all the while, allowing the heat between them to build further in its intensity while his hands lightly brushed against Mickey’s chest as he slowly undid each button one by one.

After he’d gotten Mickey’s shirt untucked from his pants and all the buttons down the front undone, Ian grabbed Mickey’s right hand from its spot in his hair and guided it down to the space between them so that he could undo the button at Mickey’s wrist.

His hands were hot but soft on the sensitive skin as he pushed the button through the tiny hole and opened the cuff. He wasted no time then, moving on to the left arm and bringing it to him in the same manner.

But this time he paused slightly, his eyes shining so hugely up at Mickey as he held Mickey’s closed hand in his palm.

Ian’s eyes never left Mickey’s as he let the fingers of his other hand rub soothingly over first the older man’s wrist, then his knuckles, and, finally, his wedding ring. Those expressive green eyes shone so bright and blazing and so fucking full of love in that moment that Mickey felt bare despite still wearing three quarters of his tux. He felt his face and ears getting hot as his chest constricted in a way not painful, but warm and comforting under Ian's intent stare. Ian’s fingers kept working over his hand as they looked at each other, the swelling emotion of the day working its way out of them and into the air between them as they stared, their hands never breaking contact. The first pricks of tears bloomed behind his eyes, and suddenly Ian’s own were getting that glassy sheen that told him he was feeling it too.

His other arm was around Ian’s shoulders, hand cupping Ian’s head, fingers still rubbing their soothing pattern into Ian’s skull like muscle memory.

Over and over again Ian’s fingers soothed over Mickey’s hand, over his tattoos, over his ring. They stared at each other, lost in the crackling heat and emotion swirling between them, before eventually Ian brought Mickey’s hand to his mouth to press his lips to the same path his fingers had just traveled, before finally undoing the button at Mickey’s wrist.

The redhead pressed his lips to Mickey’s pulse point, and then pressed one final kiss to his ring before he pushed Mickey’s shirt over his shoulders, bringing it down to the floor behind him.

Ian took in the sight of Mickey shirtless, looking him slowly and appreciatively up and down, and buried his face in Mickey’s chest with a groan low in his throat as his hands came around Mickey to pull him forward, practically hauling him into his lap as his hands roamed over Mickey’s shoulders, his back, his ass. He mouthed at the brunette’s neck and throat again, any skin he could reach, while he pressed his hands into Mickey’s ass to rut their crotches together through the dress pants.

They rocked together as best they could with Ian still sitting up but not braced against anything. His hands on Mickey’s thighs and ass squeezed and guided him, but it wasn’t fast. Ian said he wanted to take it slow tonight, and Mickey was in the mood to obey Ian’s orders. He loved being good for Ian, giving him exactly what he asked for. When he was good for Ian, he always gave Mickey what he wanted in return. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement.

Mickey’s thighs astride Ian’s lap, he rocked himself back and forth at an agonizingly slow pace as Ian’s mouth kissed and marked, sucked and licked at him. Ian loved leaving marks on Mickey’s body, reminding Mickey exactly to whom he belonged, and Mickey got off possibly even harder than Ian at seeing the marks hours later, days later. He loved having tangible reminders of Ian’s handprints on his body, his teeth marks on his hipbones, as he went about his day thinking back to how good he’d been for Ian, how happy he’d made him, that he’d let Ian mark him up.

He always vacillated wildly between wanting to display Ian’s marks proudly and never wanting to show a single soul because this side of Ian, this side of their relationship, was for him only. The marks he left on Mickey were purely his and no one else’s, and he secretly loved pressing his fingers into the bruises after they started to darken to feel that connection again, to feel that happiness that he’d given Ian as he gave himself over to him, gave him the unmatched pleasure that he found in Mickey’s body.

Mickey couldn’t help but feel a tiny sense of loss as the bruises faded, feeling that he’d lost a small piece of that connection, even if the reminders of Ian’s presence in his life were always around, always within him. It was simply the tangible ones, the bruises shaped like his fingers and hands, that faded. It was stupid, really, because there was of course one mark that was permanent. One mark that would never go away, no matter how much Mickey had wanted it to at different intervals over the years.

Ian’s lips reached it then, moving from his nipple to the tattoo over Mickey’s heart. He stilled, kissing it reverently while his breathing quickly went from erratic to low and measured as his lips lingered over the spot that marked Mickey, permanently, as Ian’s. The ink might fade slightly over time, and already had faded some as shitty prison tats were wont to do, but it would always be there. No matter how much time had passed, no matter how long they had gone without seeing each other in between prison stints, no matter how many miles and traumas had separated them. Ian would always be there.

Ian’s lips were feather light as he kissed the spot over and over, his lips faint but searing as they sparked a different kind of want deep within Mickey. His hips slowed to nearly unmoving as his hands on Ian’s head focused tighter, holding him more firmly, and then Ian let out a shaky breath and turned his head to rest his cheek against Mickey’s chest. His big hands spanned Mickey’s waist, holding him in place.

The thought repeated itself over and over again in his mind. He was allowed to be happy. He deserved to be happy. They deserved it.

Mickey calmed his curled fingers, working them soothingly through Ian’s hair again as his blunt nails scraped lightly on the downstrokes. Ian’s breaths were heavy and Mickey felt the hot air against his nipple with each exhale.

Ian got like this about it sometimes. Wouldn’t leave the tattoo alone for the entire time they kissed, the whole time he was inside Mickey. He’d run his hands over the markings until Mickey’s skin was all but raw. Memories flooding his mind and regret clouding his eyes as he stroked the letters over and over. Reminding himself of things he’d rather forget. They’d talked through all that shit ages ago, back at Beckman, but Mickey more than anyone understood the neverending need to atone for the myriad ways in which he’d hurt the man he loved. No matter how long ago and far away the hurt seemed, it had a way of sneaking back up on him, on them.

The tattoo itself was Mickey’s idea, obviously, as it was spelled fucking horrendously. A grand gesture after a disastrously chaotic time in their relationship to remind Ian that his devotion would never waver. But Ian’s reaction to it, and the subsequent fallout from that torturous prison visit, had all but broken Mickey.

It took time and work and it’d really fucking sucked sometimes, but he’d put himself back together after that. He knew he’d get out of prison eventually, either legally or illegally, and he wanted to be as mentally stable as he could be to deal with what was going to happen after, not just with Ian, but with his own life apart from Ian. So he’d worked on dealing with his problems in healthier ways, ways that were less self-destructive and chaotic. By the time he broke out he was – well-adjusted would never be the word he’d use to describe himself, but good; he was good. He’d still been carrying around an undying torch for his batshit crazy ex, but, well…that would probably always be the case. He’d been good.

Any cracks that he hadn’t quite healed on his own had been mended and repaired by Ian’s renewed presence in his life and in his heart. But he knew it wasn’t so easy for Ian to forget, to forgive himself. Sometimes Ian dwelled on the bad parts, the awful things they’d done and said to each other over the years. And tonight, when they had the rest of their lives ahead of them and were celebrating something so special and, dare Mickey say it, fucking romantic, wasn’t the time for that. He wouldn’t let the doubt and insecurity creep back in tonight. Not if he could help it.

Mickey’s hips stilled completely as he brought his hands to his husband’s face, cupping his head tenderly and lifting it to bring it up to his line of sight. Ian’s expression was full of regret as he looked up at Mickey through his lashes.

“Hey,” Mickey soothed, letting his eyes show all the love and affection he felt for Ian as he smiled and, bringing their foreheads together, touched the tip of his nose to the younger man’s, grounding all his senses in Ian.

“Nothing but the future ahead of us tonight, Ian. Our future.”

He brought his head back slightly and pulled Ian’s arm from around his waist with one hand, his other still cupping his husband’s face gently in his palm, and brought Ian’s hand up to his mouth. His lips found Ian’s wedding band, kissing it once, twice, three times, his eyes never leaving Ian’s, watching the guilt there slowly dissipate as Mickey showed him that they weren’t running from their past tonight. They were walking together, hand in hand, into their future.

He kissed the ring again, then Ian’s knuckles, and then his wrist. The same promise Ian had given him. The same one they’d give to each other every day for the rest of their lives. “Forever.” He felt his voice crack on the end of the word, tender in the way it only was when he was talking to Ian, and he felt those same prickling tears reappear in the corners of his eyes.

Mickey let the intensity of that word flow over him as he continued looking into his husband’s eyes, at his face. He wasn’t afraid to show Ian how he affected him anymore. He’d learned to accept over the years that his emotion where Ian was concerned wasn’t a weakness; it was a strength. No matter how hard he’d tried once upon a time to hide how he felt about Ian, it was always futile. His traitorous face and eyes betrayed him every time because one look at Ian – fuck, even one thought of Ian – back then had sent his face into a series of raging emotions. He’d truly been an idiot to have convinced himself that anyone could ever think that Ian was nothing to him. His voice edged with softness but trying to convey nonchalance, his ears had practically perked up at just the mention of Ian’s name back then. Such a fucking idiot.

Ian’s lips curved up the slightest bit at the ends at Mickey’s soothing, the grief and guilt that had plagued his features moments ago fading to amazed resolution as he was brought back to the present in Mickey’s arms. Determination. He saw it flash over Ian’s features in full then. He wanted this night back, too. He wasn’t going to let shitty memories from their past steal it from them.

Ian’s hand moved from Mickey’s lips to his cheek, cupping it in his huge palm.

“Thank you,” he said, bringing their foreheads together again, the tips of their noses touching. Something they’d done back before Mickey would allow Ian to kiss him. Occasionally touching his nose to Ian’s, giving him something in place of all the things he couldn’t and wouldn’t give him, was as intimate as the older boy had been willing to get at the time. And now, despite all the vulnerabilities they’d shared with each other over the ensuing years, the gesture still made Mickey’s body warm all over, made want and safety and love curl in his chest and work its way through his veins until he was sure he was looking at Ian with hearts in his eyes. As if he ever looked at him any other way. Ian knew it, too. He always knew. Which is why his next words were expected but appreciated. So appreciated.

“I love you so much, Mickey. Can’t believe you’re mine.” Ian kissed him, pressed his soft lips firmly against Mickey’s before pulling back to add, “I’m so fucking lucky that you’re my husband.”

That word again, setting a fire along Mickey’s skin as it coursed over his entire body, leaving him ablaze with want and desire. Ian saw it pass over his eyes, and he was on him again in an instant.

They fell into each other, opening their mouths and kissing with passion and fervor as Ian worked – with occasional help from Mickey, since Ian’s boot was off and he couldn’t stand without his crutches – to rid Mickey of the rest of his clothing.

Ian took his time with him, slowly kissed and rubbed every inch of him. Left bite marks and scratches in spots he knew drove Mickey crazy. They both wanted to see the remnants of the night for days to come.

Mickey was kneeling over top of Ian’s face with his legs spread open, his mouth working Ian’s cock lazily as his husband moved his fingers and mouth over, around, and into Mickey’s eager hole. After all the foreplay Ian had given him, barely letting Mickey touch him in return, Mickey was desperate for some body contact. So the 69 was perfect, except for the fact that he couldn’t concentrate on Ian’s dick as much as he wanted. Mickey never was very good at giving his all in a blowjob when he was in that position. The overwhelming sensations of being filled by Ian in every way possible, his cock in Mickey’s mouth while his fingers and tongue were in Mickey’s ass, were just too much for him. He could never focus on blowing Ian properly while he, himself, was being worshipped to within an inch of his life.

Ian had always had an oral fixation, and he was a damn good cock sucker, but something otherworldy came over him when he ate Mickey’s ass. He was a man possessed, able to breathe completely through his mouth for a prolonged amount of time, despite how firmly he pressed his face directly against Mickey’s ass when he tongue-fucked him. He used that skilled tongue and those deft fingers to turn Mickey out so perfectly, teased him until he couldn’t stand it. Until Mickey was a babbling, incoherent mess on top of him, and then gave him just an ounce of relief with a hand on the base of his cock and his soft mouth sucking around the tip to tether him back to reality. Over and over again.

He spread Mickey’s cheeks so far apart that he felt split open in the best way. Ian’s face pressed hard into Mickey’s ass while he worked his expert tongue over and over the tight furl, curling the tip of his tongue every so often to tease Mickey’s hole with the temptation of his tongue slipping in.

Mickey felt fucking filthy and desperate, spread open on top of Ian with Ian’s saliva dripping down his ass and balls and his hands kneading his cheeks. He was covered in sweat and his thighs were starting to ache from holding himself up, but he didn’t want it to stop. God, he didn’t want it to ever stop.

He pulled off Ian’s dick with a wet ‘pop’ to tell him just how much. “So good, Ian. So fucking good. Don’t stop.” He sounded breathless and fucked out even to his own ears.

Ian caressed him, soothed him, broke him apart and put him back together time and time again as he got Mickey so fucking worked up that he wanted to shout from the overstimulation and desperate need to cum.

But Mickey didn’t. He did as he’d promised and let Ian have his way with him. Let him work him slow and soft, hard and fast, back and forth and over and over again until he was a shaking mess and his cock had leaked an impressive puddle of precum onto Ian’s chest.

By the time Ian slipped his tongue in suddenly, the shock of it caused Mickey to push his ass back against Ian’s face hard as he rested all his weight on one forearm. Ian’s cock was all but forgotten underneath him as his other hand came up to grab at Ian’s hair.

“Fuuuuuck.” He practically whimpered it as Ian squeezed his ass hard in his palms and pumped his tongue in and out of Mickey’s hole in quick succession.

Ian’s tongue fully inside his ass and one digit joining it, Mickey moaned out his husband’s name again and again, and he couldn’t help his hips moving on their own against Ian, trying to fuck himself on Ian’s tongue.

“Ian.”

“Ian.”

“Ian.”

Over and over again he said it, sounding more desperate each time, and it seemed to do something to Ian as well, as with each syllable from Mickey’s throat Ian moaned into Mickey louder and louder, his hips bucking up trying to find friction. 

Mickey’s tone was pleading, and he knew after such prolonged foreplay that Ian was more than ready to fuck him. So he begged him for it, said the words that always got Ian so fucking fired up he was practically a blur as he raced to get inside Mickey. “Please fuck me. I need you so bad. So fucking bad. Please”

His voice was wrecked, fucked out and hoarse from who knows how long of moaning around Ian’s dick in his mouth. But he loved it, loved asking Ian so openly to give him what he wanted, and he knew Ian loved hearing it. He loved how badly Mickey needed him. How badly it made him need Mickey in return. He could never contain himself when Mickey begged him like that, needy and broken and desperate for Ian to fill him up. His cock twitched at the thought of making Ian happy just by being himself, by asking Ian for what he so desperately wanted.

Ian pulled his head back from Mickey’s ass then and gently removed his finger, rubbing it over the rim as he pulled out. Mickey felt himself squeeze at nothing as the digit slid out completely, and Ian moaned low in his throat at the sight. God, he loved hearing Ian. He loved making those sounds come out of Ian. He couldn’t wait to look at his face while he rode him for the first time as his husband. Wanted to watch Ian completely undone because of Mickey.

Ian’s hands grabbed his ass cheeks one final time and jiggled them, groaning low in his throat as he watched Mickey’s ass bounce for him. God, Mickey needed to fuck him like yesterday.

He made quick work of maneuvering himself around and over Ian in the opposite direction, his hole lining up perfectly with Ian’s cock as he sank down around it in one slow, drawn out slide. They both groaned at the sensation, getting lost in that perfect moment of initial penetration as they looked into each other’s eyes and felt the culmination of all the emotions they’d been feeling that day.

Mickey saw it all in Ian’s eyes, all the love and desire and affection Ian felt for him, and he felt at home with Ian filling him up, taking up residence in this place inside himself he never knew existed until he met Ian, until he loved Ian.

Ian’s eyebrows drew up in that pleased way they always did when Mickey reached his base and sat himself fully on Ian’s cock, and he smiled that heart-melting smile that was just for Mickey. His chest constricted with it, and suddenly the space between them was too much. He needed to be closer to Ian.

Mickey curled forward, still getting used to the stretch, his chest fully against Ian’s and his elbows resting on either side of Ian’s head. He breathed hard into Ian’s mouth as he settled around him.

Ian’s cock always took his breath away when he first entered him, and this time was no different. He was just so fucking big, and Mickey felt his breath come in quick, fevered bursts as he worked his hips slowly, so slowly, to adjust. Their faces were so close together, and with each tiny movement Mickey made, back and forth, just slowly grinding himself into Ian’s fullness, their lips grazed each other’s. Just pressing their lips against each other’s, feeling their mouths coming together and meeting while Mickey’s body took Ian’s into his own in the most intimate way.

He focused on the feel of Ian’s hand on the small of his back, the other on the nape of his neck, moving it slightly so that Ian’s lips could find that spot at his neck and shoulder that drove Mickey crazy. All his senses were full of Ian, and it made him _want_. Want more. Want Ian.

His breathing was calming with every pass Ian’s tongue made over his skin, with every new mark Ian sucked into his neck.

He was ready.

He kept his upper body in place against Ian as he lifted his hips slowly to slide almost all the way off Ian’s cock before thrusting back down on it. He did it repeatedly, setting a slow but deliberate pace as he worked himself closer to his orgasm, already so close from Ian’s earlier ministrations.

He lifted up slightly so that Ian could wrap his big hand around Mickey’s cock. The dual sensation of Ian’s hand in time with his hips bouncing on Ian’s cock was a lot, and he was close. But he didn’t want to come yet. He focused on holding off slightly as he worked himself on Ian. Just feeling the stretch of Ian inside him, the perfect fucking feeling of his cock finding its home within Mickey.

His breaths were coming faster and faster despite his slow pace on Ian’s dick, and as close as he’d been from the start, he was sure it wasn’t just physical. The day had been great, but it was still a long fucking day. A day he never thought would actually come, on the rare occasions when he’d let himself daydream about a future with Ian. But it was here and it was real. This was the future he had been dreaming of. They were living it now, creating it every second they were together. He felt the tears prick his eyes again. He wanted to fight it off, but sometimes he just couldn’t. Sometimes he was so full of love for Ian and full of Ian himself that it overwhelmed him. Filled him to the brim with emotion in a way nothing else ever had or ever would. And it was a lot, but it was so fucking good. It made him needy and desperate, and Ian could always tell. He could always tell, and he always took care of Mickey exactly how he needed to be taken care of.

He buried his face in Ian’s neck as he brought himself up and down on Ian’s cock, still at the same slow pace, but with more urgency, more determination. His thighs were aching and he would most definitely be sore tomorrow, but he needed to feel Ian come undone underneath him, around him. Because of him. He needed it. Needed it so fucking bad.

Ian’s hand on his dick sped up, sensing the shift in Mickey. His mouth hovered over his ear, his confident voice deep and lusty. “You’re so good, Mick. So fucking good for me. Always been so fucking good. Always. Know just what I like, just how to make it good for me. Don’t you?”

“Yes,” he answered immediately without thinking, his hips faltering slightly as Ian brought his knees up as much as he could to thrust into Mickey from below. But he didn’t stop talking to Mickey, and Mickey could practically cry from the relief on his thighs with Ian’s knees up higher and his filthy fucking words in his ear. He always knew just what Mickey needed.

“So perfect for me, Mick. So fucking perfect. Perfect ass. Perfect cock. Perfect fucking face. Take it so fucking good.”

Mickey was moaning incoherently at that point, his thighs practically collapsed around Ian and letting him do nearly all the work. Through the haze of near-orgasm and bliss Mickey thought that he would regret that later, with Ian’s injury, but he could hear only Ian’s labored breathing and his words, encouraging Mickey, soothing Mickey. Making him Ian’s. Making him whole. And then his words brought Mickey back between them to that ledge. He was so fucking close.

“You’re gonna come so good for me. Aren’t you, Mick? Gonna gimme all that cum.” Mickey nodded his head eagerly into Ian’s neck even though he knew Ian couldn’t see, probably couldn’t even feel him nodding with everything else going on around them. But he didn’t care. He was going to give Ian everything he wanted tonight. Every night. For the rest of their lives.

Ian’s thrusts were starting to get harder and faster, each one directly hitting his prostate. Ian’s breaths were coming in hot puffs against Mickey’s ear as he continued talking him through it, continued stroking Mickey’s dick. Mickey loved him so fucking much.

‘M gonna cum, baby. Gonna cum so good for you. Gonna make that perfect ass mine. Fill you up so good.”

 _Baby_. Part of him still hated admitting it, but Mickey fucking loved it when Ian called him that, especially while he was fucking him. It pushed all of Mickey’s buttons simultaneously, made him see stars and float outside of himself.

It all fell together then to undo him. His entire body tensed as his orgasm ripped through him, and he felt his cum shoot between their chests as Ian stroked him through it, his hand working slower and slower until Mickey was spent.

Ian fucked him through it all, and Mickey was sure his moans reached dog whistle tones as Ian continued hitting his prostate with each thrust, but he didn’t care. Ian fucking him through his orgasm into his own was a special kind of pleasure for Mickey.

Ian came with a shout, his thrusts slowing but not stopping. Mickey felt the new warmth center him as Ian came inside him, and he moaned into Ian’s shoulder, loving the feeling of Ian filling him up so completely. A part of Ian becoming a part of him.

He brought his head up to kiss Ian with lots of tongue as he continued thrusting lazily into Mickey. He moaned into it, long and low. He loved the feeling of overstimulation after orgasm, Ian’s not-quite-soft cock still moving easily into him after he’d come while Ian kissed him and kissed him, his body nearly prone on top of Ian’s. It just did something for him that he couldn’t explain in words. They stayed like that for a bit, until the need to clean themselves up and rest was too strong.

He lay with his head on Ian’s chest as they let sleep take them. Before he sunk fully into sleep, he felt his husband press a kiss to his forehead.

“I love you, Mickey. Goodnight.”

His response was immediate, natural. “I love you, too, Ian.”

In bed on their wedding night, with Ian’s strong arms around him and Ian’s love filling him up in all the ways he’d always wanted, he couldn’t stop thinking that he’d finally gotten everything he’d ever wanted.

They had nothing but the future ahead of them.

Whatever they might go through after this would be nothing in the face of what they’d already gone through just to get here, to have this. To have each other. Mickey wanted nothing more than to revel in this feeling. To exist solely as Ian’s husband for the entire night as Ian held him and joked with him, teased him and laughed with him. Just Ian and Mickey. Together and so in love. Forever.

**Author's Note:**

> all feedback is appreciated, even concrit :)
> 
> new fandom [who dis](https://maybesheglows.tumblr.com/)
> 
> the [lovely art post](https://iwannabewhereyouaremickey.tumblr.com/post/621197485847805952/im-so-fucking-lucky-that-youre-my) that iwannabewhereyouaremickey made for this fic


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